


Two Idiots

by persephermione



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephermione/pseuds/persephermione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John both like each other, but can they manage to figure that out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Idiots

Bored.  
BOOORED.  
Sherlock was bored. John was busy at his ridiculous job at the clinic and Sherlock was stuck here on the couch with nothing to do.  
Well. Not nothing. He could clean the potassium bicarbonate out of the bathtub. Or maybe compose a bit. But there was absolutely nothing worthwhile to do. He finished his last case a week ago, long enough that the high from solving it had long since fled but not long enough for Lestrade to have a fresh murder or for John to try to keep him from going out of his mind. Sherlock sighed. He almost wished that he had taken longer to find the serial killer and draw out the case, just so John would have stayed away from his ‘job’ a little longer. Maybe that was a Bit Not Good, wishing that he had delayed finding the criminal just to be able to have John near him, but it was the truth. He’d found, over their months of living together, that not only did he very much enjoy John’s company but that he craved it. Sometimes, when he isn’t able to get sleep after days of restless energy and needs something to tamp his frustration down, he plays his violin at 3 in the morning, just loud enough that it’ll wake John, but not so loud as to bother Mrs. Hudson. When John stomps down the stairs to lecture him again about his need for sleep, Sherlock only listens to the words coming out of his mouth so he can to catalogue the exact timbre of John’s voice after just waking up. He analyzes the color of his eyes that become backlit from the muted streetlights through the window, and after John’s stomped back upstairs, Sherlock finds he’s able to get to sleep. But he hasn’t quite decided on which specific shade of midnight John’s eyes are after being woken by Brahms. Must investigate further.  
Sherlock eyes the clock. There’s still a few hours left until John gets home. Perhaps practicing for his next midnight symphony will help to pass the time...

“Bye Anne, have a good one,” John says, as he walks through the waiting area of the clinic on his way out.  
“See ya John. Going out tonight?” Anne asks with a smile. John likes the new receptionist well enough, but he’s not really in the mood to chat. No, at the moment he just wants to get back home.  
“Nah. Just going home,” John answers, trying to wipe the grin off his face as he thinks of seeing Sherlock in just a short cab ride.  
Anne raises her eyebrows at the smile on John’s face that appears as he says the word “home”.  
“Okay, have fun” Anne says, winking back at John as John starts to turn back towards the door.  
John feels his face heat up as he walks into the rain outside, wondering if she thought that instead of collapsing in front of the television and ordering takeaway, she thought he was going back home and snog Sherlock Holmes.  
“God, I wish I was,” John thinks to himself as he waves down a cab. If Sherlock were there, John would have corrected Anne on any impure thoughts she might have had about the two of them, but he figures that this time he can let it go. After all, the only reason that he bothers contradicting anyone about their relationship is so that Sherlock doesn’t immediately deduce that John’s in love with him.  
And honestly, John thinks to himself as he gives the cabbie his address on autopilot, if John didn’t contradict anyone about that, he’d have a harder time not imagining being in a romantic relationship with Sherlock Holmes. It’s bad enough getting to live with him and seeing him when he’s himself and happy and in a domestic setting, but if John were allowed to pretend that they were a couple he’d probably stare at Sherlock with hearts in his eyes even more than he does now, and there’s no way that Sherlock wouldn’t notice. And obviously, he couldn’t let Sherlock know any of that. No, no, if Sherlock knew that John loved him, he’d be treated to another “I’m married to my work” discussion. But, even worse, Sherlock might decide that he couldn’t live with someone head-over-heels for him and leave.  
It takes John a couple of seconds to climb out of his thoughts and notice that the cab has stopped outside of the flat. He tosses some notes at the cabbie and lets himself in, schooling his expression into one of neutrality as he climbs the stairs to their flat so that Sherlock won’t read his thoughts off of his face.  
“Sherlock? What do you want to do for dinner? Thai or Malaysian?” John calls as he walks through the sitting room and kitchen, peeking into the bathroom as he looks for Sherlock. There’s no reply, but maybe Sherlock just isn’t bothering to answer. John knocks on Sherlock’s bedroom door, then opens it, revelling in getting to see the forbidden space, but not seeing his ridiculous friend. John walks back to the sitting room. Sherlock’s Belstaff is on the hook so he probably isn’t out, so where is he? John rolls his eyes as he considers the very real possibility that Sherlock has gone out in the freezing November rain without a coat on.  
“The idiot is going to get ill if he keeps doing things like that,” John mutters as he resolves to yell at Sherlock about it when he gets home. Although, if Sherlock did get ill, John would get to take care of him. He could take time off work and they wouldn’t do any cases and John would just get to take care of Sherlock and make him feel better….  
“Bit Not Good,” John thinks to himself as he climbs up the stairs to his room on a quest for dry socks, getting his phone out of his pocket so he can text Sherlock to ask where he is.  
He stops dead as he pushes his door open. There, on his bed, curled up on his side and facing him, is Sherlock Holmes.  
John stares at him in total shock. Sherlock’s eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling slowly, evidently asleep.  
Sherlock’s wearing his normal pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt which is riding up and revealing a slice of smooth ivory skin at his midriff. The crease that seems to be permanently on his brow has smoothed out in sleep and his curls are cascading over his forehead. The cupid’s bow mouth is ever so slightly open, revealing a glint of perfect teeth and soft pink tongue. He’s on top of the covers, facing the doorway, and even though he’s curled up his limbs are relaxed and he looks peaceful.  
John’s heart fills with love and affection for his madman and his breath hitches audibly. Sherlock’s eyes slowly open. He looks a bit disoriented for a moment, trying to suss out why he’s lying down and why John’s staring like that at him. Then he realizes. He fell asleep. On John’s bed. He hadn’t meant to. He had just been bored and exhausted and John hadn’t been home and he wanted to know if John’s pillow smelled like him. John hadn’t been supposed to find him like this.  
Time for damage control. A quick glimpse at John’s face confirms that beyond his shock, he’s hungry after his day at work.  
Sherlock smoothly jumps off the bed. “Ah, you’re finally home. Fancy Thai for dinner? The place near Bart’s or the one on-”  
“Sherlock?” John interrupted, his face blank as he looked into Sherlock’s eyes.  
“Yes John?” Apparently they would have to talk about the compromising position John had found him in. Although, honestly, that was not as compromising of a position as it could have been.  
“Why were you asleep in my bed?” John asked, narrowing his eyes inquisitively.  
“...experiment” Sherlock mumbled in response as he tried to move towards the door that John was still standing in front of, hoping that John would just let it go so they could forget about this whole incident and Sherlock could go back to just pining from afar.  
“An experiment? And what were you testing, exactly?” John responded, not moving as Sherlock tried to get to the doorway and instead only achieved being much closer to John, who was starting to smirk as a pink flush began creeping over Sherlock’s face.  
“Nothing important, I’m sure you wouldn’t understand. I was testing to see how exactly my reflexes and nervous system would respond if my sense of hearing was stimulated while in an REM cycle, but unfortuna-”  
“Sherlock.”  
“What, John?”  
“Why were you sleeping in my bed?”  
“I was just telling you, weren’t you listening? Did you not understand? Surely as a doctor you must have some comprehension of what I was saying I mean honestly, John-John what are you doing?”  
John had raised himself onto his toes to lessen the height difference between himself and Sherlock as he gently placed a hand on Sherlock’s waist to steady himself. Sherlock looked at John in confusion as John carefully raised his other hand to cup his jaw and smooth his thumb across Sherlock’s cheek. His eyes fluttered closed and John smiled at how responsive he was to such a small touch. John slowly tilted his head up, closing his eyes as he chastely brushed their lips together and Sherlock gasped at the contact.  
After a moment, John moved back.  
“Alright?” John asked, when after a moment, Sherlock hadn’t moved an inch, nor opened his eyes to look at John.  
“Sherlock?” John said, starting to move his hands away from Sherlock’s body as he began to worry that he had completely misread the situation.  
“Do it again,” Sherlock breathed, eyes still closed.  
John’s hands froze, still lightly resting on Sherlock’s body. For a moment he didn’t move, just smiled at how ethereal Sherlock looked and the fact that Sherlock seemed to be committing everything to memory.  
Sherlock’s eyes opened, eyebrows furrowing as he realized John had made no move to kiss him again. As he opened his mouth to argue, John rocked up on his toes and kissed him again, firmer than the first time but still hesitant at how new the sensation was. He could feel Sherlock’s bony hip through his thin pajama bottoms and he smoothed his other hand into Sherlock’s ebony locks of hair which were just as soft as they looked. Sherlock’s hands were gently settling around his waist, curling into his jumper as though he wanted to hold onto John and never let him go. John slid his tongue ever so gently over Sherlock’s bottom lip and smiled at the quiet sigh Sherlock released into the room. He pulled back and smiled, memorizing the soft look on Sherlock’s face and the amazed look in his eyes.  
“What were you saying about dinner?

**Author's Note:**

> To Phoebe,  
> Happy anniversary love.  
> To everyone,  
> Interpret that last line as they go on a date or they order in and are unbearably breathtakingly cute and cuddly or they go straight into sex like genuinely any of these interpretations are fine and accurate.


End file.
